


don't be

by plantyourtreeswithme



Series: one foot in sea, one on shore [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Merlin Dies, M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-20 13:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17023320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plantyourtreeswithme/pseuds/plantyourtreeswithme
Summary: "I'm so sorry," Arthur said, battered and broken. "I'm sorry, I should've... I could've saved you, I could've smuggled you out of Camelot, I..."Somehow, Merlin smiled. When he opened his eyes, they were breathtakingly gold.He said two words: two words would haunt Arthur for the rest of his life."Don't be."





	don't be

Merlin said nothing, and that broke Arthur's heart more than anything.

He was screaming and sobbing at the guards restraining him, loathing the fact that those he had considered  _friends_ were among them. His father was above, gripping the balcony with hands sheathed in gloves and shouting orders to his men, who were doing a good job of keeping Arthur away from his servant. Every time he drew near the stake, he was pulled away again - so he lashed out and clawed at their faces, wishing he could tear their sorrowful expressions away. Leon in particular was sporting a long scratch on his cheek. Arthur did not regret giving it to him.

"You can't do this," he called out to his father as he reached for his sword, lying abandoned on the ground. "He saved my life - he says he's never used his magic for anything but my protection, and I believe him! I've  _never_ seen him hurt anyone, I -"

"Enough!" the great Uther commanded, ignoring Arthur's pleas. "Light him!"

_"No! Merlin, please, do something - Merlin - !"_

The torch fell at the sorcerer's feet, and Arthur's ears were ringing, his throat burning, his eyes watering and his nose running, and he couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but scream Merlin's name, coughing and hacking as smoke filled his lungs, and Merlin wasn't saying anything, his eyes fixed steadily on Arthur as the flames spread across the makeshift platform and lapped at Merlin's feet...

The guards gradually drew back as Arthur's protests faltered. They pushed the hushed crowd out of the square and left Arthur kneeling on the cold stone, watching as the fire grew tall and bright. His father had vanished from the balcony, disgusted by his son's sickening display of weakness.

A gloved hand rested on his shoulder, but he tore away. It was probably Leon, or maybe even Lancelot - but he didn't want them now. They could not calm him, could not sate his rage...

Somewhere within the castle, Morgana was screaming. Uther had not allowed her to attend the burning lest she attempt to kill someone in her fury, and thus had shut her in her room. Arthur doubted her hatred for their father would ever cease after what he had done.

Merlin was still quiet, his eyes closed and his face calm. If Arthur didn't know any better, he would've thought that the flames weren't hurting him at all. But that was his Merlin: he was only ever concerned with Arthur's needs and wants, his every wish and command. When Arthur, noticing something off about him in the past, had asked him about his grievances, his manservant would merely joke or tease him, coaxing a laugh from the prince but never smiling himself.

"I'm so sorry," Arthur said, battered and broken. "I'm sorry, I should've... I could've saved you, I could've smuggled you out of Camelot, I..."

Somehow, Merlin smiled. When he opened his eyes, they were breathtakingly gold.

He said two words: two words that would haunt Arthur for the rest of his life.

"Don't be."

 

* * *

 

When nothing of the pyre remained but ash and bone, Arthur wept.

 

* * *

 

"Have you lost your  _mind_?" Uther spat, pacing back and forth in his chambers. "That was a horrifying scene yesterday. You have no right to embarrass me like that in front of my people."

Our _people,_ Arthur thought, but he said nothing.

"Have I not told you again and again over the course of your life that magic is an unstoppable force of evil?"

"Magic played a role in my birth," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "If it is your quest to eradicate all magic, so be it: kill me as you killed him."

"I will not destroy the only chance I have of passing on my lineage."

"You have Morgana; surely you would give her the kingdom after you have gone, if she is your only option."

"I would never trust a woman, least of all my  _ward_ , to rule Camelot - and certainly not one who seems to have lost her mind over the rightful burning of a sorcerer."

"Yes, a sorcerer who happened to be protecting your very important kingdom all along," Arthur snarled, "who you may not have even won half of your stupid little wars without -"

"He was a servant!" his father seethed. "What was so special about him that you cannot live without him? Do not tell me that you cannot find another. I will provide you with a thousand more attendants of his caliber, and when they, too, are revealed to be magicians conspiring against us, I will burn them all and find you a thousand more. I will kill ten thousand men if it means that you and my kingdom are safe."

Arthur said nothing, as Merlin had.

Merlin.

He had left so much unresolved, had given Arthur an empty heart and words unsaid forever sealed between his lips...

"I did this for your protection, Arthur."

"He was doing a fine job of protecting me before you had him burnt at the stake."

Uther stared at him, aghast. Arthur wanted to bury his face in his hands to block out the sight, but held his ground.

"To your chambers for a week," the king commanded haughtily, as if Arthur were a petulant child. "I hope that you will heed my words, and that this spell he has cast over you will fade with time.

"And why are you still in those filthy robes? Go bathe and have someone fetch you new ones at once. This is what happens when you grovel at the feet of a witch."

"Of course, my liege," Arthur mocked, but his father was deaf to his taunts.

 

* * *

 

He woke up in the dead of night and reached out into the space beside him in the bed (oftentimes, Merlin would leave his own quarters and slip underneath the prince's covers at Arthur's behest), thinking,  _Don't be dead, Merlin, don't be gone, please be here when I open my eyes..._

But he wasn't.

And that hurt almost more than watching him die.

 

* * *

 

Gwaine didn't talk to him anymore. When they sparred, a strange light glinted in the rogue's eyes, and Arthur often noticed that he couldn't seem to make it through the day without several draws from the flask he always carried. Elyan told him that Gwaine practically lived at the tavern now, drowning his sorrows in mead: the drink Merlin favored, even over ale or rum.

At the end of one especially harrowing day of negotiations, he had told Arthur that it reminded him of home - of Ealdor, and of Will.

Now mead reminded Arthur of home, too.

Gaius was reserved, carrying out orders in an automatic, mechanical manner, but at least he still replied when Arthur struck up half-hearted conversations about poultices or bandages or something else equally as mundane. More often than not, he caught glimpses of Gaius' aches and pains: the slope of his back as he doubled over in pain; the slight tremor of his once-steady hands as he attempted to write down a remedy for fever; the unsteady way in which he walked, looking as if he might topple over any day now. It occurred to him that perhaps Merlin had been the one alleviating the old man's discomfort - either with magic, or simply with his cheery, uplifting demeanor. Clearly, his absence had a profound effect on Gaius' life.

When Arthur looked at the withering apothecary, he thought of the trips he had often sent Merlin on to gather herbs. Somehow, Merlin always knew exactly when Arthur needed a break from his duties, and would ask if he wanted to accompany him. As they trekked through the forest, Merlin would name every flower he could see, even going as far as to pick a few and hand them to the prince.

On the seventh trip, Arthur took his companion's hand and kissed him softly. In the moment, he did not care that he was overstepping the boundaries they'd carefully laid down; he just kissed Merlin as sweetly as he could, and when he pulled away, he said he was sorry. But Merlin had only said two words, his features lit up with a brilliant smile.

Those happy days were gone. Now Arthur had to deal with real problems, like subjects who still wouldn't meet his eyes when he gave them orders. One of them was a heartbroken Guinevere, to whom he didn't have the strength to say, "Look at me when I'm talking to you." He knew that if he did, she would stare at him with the same indignation Merlin had often directed at Arthur when he had crossed a line.

Morgana's behavior did not improve, so Uther kept her locked away. Arthur had never known she had held Merlin so close to her heart; it made his own twinge with jealousy.

Leon stayed at his side, even after the scratch.

At least there was that.

 

* * *

 

"I have sent for the Lady Mithian of Nemeth and her father," King Uther said, taking off one of his rings and dipping it in the wax a servant had just poured onto the document before him. "She is somewhat younger than you, but I believe the two of you would make a good match. They'll be arriving in a few days, and if the two of you hit it off, I would like for you to marry her."

Arthur hummed in a rather noncommittal way from his seat at the other end of the table.

When his father broke for lunch with Morgana (in the hope that he could coax her into behaving), Arthur packed some clothes, went down to the stables, and rode for Essetir.

He needed to clear his mind and escape, just for a while. He wished more than anything that he could go out with Merlin and collect herbs for Gaius, leaving ample room for conversation and stolen kisses while they completed the rudimentary task.

But Merlin was gone and there was work to be done - or rather, work to be put off for a few days.

It was nightfall when he arrived at Ealdor, tethering his horse to a fencepost along the village's border. Memories of better times were at the forefront of his thoughts as he walked to Hunith's house; that was where he'd first realized he was in love with Merlin, and that was where they had charged Kanan and his band of ruffians, and that was where they'd...

Hunith greeted him with a soft gasp, a smile, and a hug that was only a little bit awkward. "My prince," she said, pushing her wispy, graying hair out of her face, "what business have you here?"

"I just... needed to get away," was Arthur's reply. "Only for a few days. I don't want to intrude, if you'd rather I sleep in the woods -"

"No! No, no, of course not," she protested. "Sleep here, please, in Merlin's old bed. Anything for his..."

She trailed off.

"Speaking of which, where is he? Why isn't he with you?"

A lump formed in Arthur's throat. "Has Gaius not told you?"

Hunith's eyes were fearful and bright. "No, he hasn't written in ages. Is everything alright?"

Arthur found it difficult to breathe.

 

* * *

 

He returned to a supremely angry father after three days with Hunith.

She mourned very differently than Arthur. He supposed this was because she had already lost Merlin's father; this was a woman accustomed to grief. Perhaps she had even known - felt something - in her heart of hearts when her son had passed away.

Of course, she had still been quite distraught. The only reason Arthur stayed for so long was because she found it significantly more difficult to complete her daily tasks, and he had felt so terrible for inflicting this upon her that he felt he had to help. The news of her son's passing had aged her, weakened her. It would not kill her or break her spirit as it had Arthur's, but it was still a heavy blow.

On the fourth morning of his stay, when Hunith had finally managed to wake up on her own, Arthur saddled his horse and prepared to leave. She came out of her house once he was ready, and cupped his cheek in a show of affection so reminiscent of her son that Arthur could not help but sob.

"He is still with us, you know," she said faintly, watching the tears drip down his face and wiping them away with her thumb. "He lives on in you."

Arthur could not speak.

"I know you will never be the same without him. I am sorry you have lost him."

"No," Arthur choked out, "no, your loss is -"

"Yours is far greater, Arthur," Hunith interrupted. She was crying, too. "His father often spoke to me of how his other half awaited him in Camelot, but I never dreamt..."

That was a punch to the gut, so unexpected that it nearly knocked the wind out of him. They had always been meant to be: fate, cruel, fickle fate, had tied them together and cursed them to love each other - to hold but never have, to love and always lose -

"My prince," Hunith said dimly, calling him back to reality. "It will be alright."

He nodded, his vision blurry, but how could it? How could anything be alright if he had lost his soulmate, the man slated to be at his side for all eternity...

 

* * *

 

Another two weeks in his quarters, interrupted only by a quiet knock at his door. It was Guinevere, with little curls framing her plain but pretty face. As she met his gaze out of habit, Arthur dimly registered something flickering within her: a spark that reminded him of what she had been like before - a bright little fire inside her spirit that had attracted those surrounding her and made them all so very happy once upon a time.

Then she ducked her head, cleared her throat with embarrassment, and said, "From my lady," offering him a tiny, folded slip of parchment.

He was careful not to touch her skin as he took the message from her open palm. "Thank you, Gwen," he replied. She gave a little nod in return, and then the guard manning the door took a rather aggressive step in her direction and she scurried away again.

Arthur sighed, shut the door, and opened the note from Morgana. It read:

 

_Brother dearest,_

_We must speak at once. There are secrets I have concealed from you that must now be brought to light. I am sure you will find a way to visit my rooms at midnight tonight if you so choose._

_I have faith in you._

_Much love,_

_M_

 

Those last two lines tore at Arthur's very soul. He knew his sister and her cunning; she may not have meant to hurt him with her words, but she surely meant to grab his attention. She had to have known it would affect him to some degree, and thus she phrased it with exact precision in order to do so.

He began to scale the castle walls at a quarter 'til, climbing up a full story until he had reached Morgana's window. She had left it open for him already, and once he clumsily clambered inside, he made his way to her desk, where she sat with a little candle and a piece of parchment upon which she was writing fervently.

She glanced 'round at him as he approached, a gentle smile on her face. "Hello, Arthur," she said, and as he drew closer, he saw how gaunt she was, how thin and pale she looked.

"I look like death, I know," she told him offhandedly. "I'm wasting away, but what matter is it? Father doesn't care. I don't particularly care myself. We have other things to attend to."

"Such as?"

Morgana motioned to him to sit beside her, and he did so, the wooden bench Uther had gifted her creaking and protesting under his weight. She set down her quill, turned to look him in the eye, and said, "I'm like Merlin."

He nearly laughed at that. "How do you mean?"

"I have magic, Arthur."

There was a beat.

"Please don't say that," he said with a slight shudder. "It's really not funny."

"No,  _look_ -" She met his eyes with a fierce stare, and suddenly, they were glowing a dark, moody gold, borderline copper, and Arthur was reeling, and the candle's little flame was a roaring inferno, and Arthur fell back and overturned the bench -

"Arthur! Arthur -" Morgana reached for him, but he drew back. "You're not scared of me, are you?"

"No, of course not," he spluttered, his hands splayed behind him on the cold stone floor. "I - Morgana, you - your eyes -"

"They're different than his, I know," she said sadly, taking his hands definitively and pulling him to his feet.

"Did he know? Did you tell him? Did he tell  _you_?"

She hesitated, then nodded, and for the hundredth time, Arthur's heart shattered. Merlin had trusted Arthur's sister - his adopted sister, his childhood playmate - with his true identity, but not the love of his life.

And then his mind was racing, and what if Merlin had never loved him? Had never felt the same, had really hated Arthur, loathed him for the stupid, stuck-up prat he was -

"Arthur, breathe," Morgana said gently. "It's alright. He knew even before I did, he approached me. I had the most terrible nightmares, do you remember?"

He did.

"He told me he suspected something and took me to the druids, and suddenly, everything was clear to me. The dreams, the premonitions - my whole life made sense again. I owe him everything, Arthur. He was a savior, everyone's savior. Do you know what they called him?"

Arthur shook his head.

"He is Emrys. He is imbued with magic older than the sun, Arthur; his aura shines so, so brightly. He has such a beautiful soul. He is destined for such great things. Every magical child in this world knows his name. Every druid in the realm dreams of how he will free us someday."

He couldn't bear her use of present tense. "Morgana, he's... you know he's gone, don't you?"

"Of course he isn't. He will return, Arthur, he must. He tells me in my dreams that he will come back to you."

"He... he speaks to you?"

"Yes," she said eagerly. "It isn't safe for him to return yet, and we must work to change that."

"How?" Arthur breathed. Her excitement was infectious; somehow, he could not help but begin to believe her.

Now she was faltering. "I don't know yet. I'm sure I'll come up with something soon, or he will tell me in my dreams."

The spell she'd cast with her words faded, and Arthur shook his head. "Morgana, they can't be real. It can't be him, it's just your imagination."

"Arthur, no, you must believe me - believe in him -"

"I need  _proof_ , Morgana." He stood. "Get back to me with real, solid ideas, and I'll consider it."

"Arthur, please."

He hesitated. "I love you, Morgana." At least he could tell her, if not Merlin.

"Not enough to believe me," she said bitterly.

"I do. I believe that you will help me fight against Father and avenge our friend."

"But you don't think I can bring him back."

"Morgana..."

She turned away. He did not want to crush her spirit any further, so he left.

 

* * *

 

"Sir, you need to eat something. You are unwell."

"So are you, Gaius," Arthur mumbled.

He had taken ill. He did not want to eat. Yet here Gaius was, trying to force his hand and fatten him up and make him nice and hale and whole again.

The healer ignored what Arthur had said and went on. "The king has ordered me to make you better, but I cannot do that if you refuse to eat anything."

"I don't want to," he protested weakly, but against his wishes, Gaius seized the opportunity to shove a spoonful of soup into his mouth.

He recovered, but was not the same. He suspected it had something to do with his state of mind, which seemed to deteriorate every time his father spoke to him.

At this point, Uther was a hellish reminder of the life he had taken from Arthur. Whenever the king so much as looked at him, Arthur felt like he was being transported back to that day, begging Merlin to do something and receiving no answers...

He knew something was wrong with him when he found himself fantasizing of burning his father at the stake from time to time, but he did nothing and told no one.

 

* * *

 

"Arthur," said a little voice from the crack in his sister's door.

"Morgana?"

"Come here."

This being the first time they had spoken in months, Arthur did what she asked.

"We must kill Father," she whispered.

" _What?_ Morgana,  _this_ is your idea? It's treason -"

"Keep your voice down," she snapped. "The enchantment I put on that guard won't hold for very long. We must kill him to bring Merlin back: a life for a life."

"You know very well that won't work."

"Fine, believe what you wish - but we must still kill him for what he did to you."

"What would you know of what he did to me?" Arthur asked. He felt that the pit in his stomach would never cease to grow.

"I know that he killed someone you were in love with. Is that not reason enough for you?"

He hated himself for failing to disagree with her.

 

* * *

 

When a knave snuck into the castle and murdered Uther Pendragon, two years after Merlin's death, Arthur felt relief.

 

* * *

 

Another three years went by. Arthur was king, and not yet married - a fact that his advisers never failed to remind him of on a daily basis.

He could not,  _would not_ wed. He couldn't bring himself to betray Merlin.

He was healthy again, but not happy. It was easy to appear strong in front of his people, to offer them a version of himself they readily accepted. But behind closed doors, he was weak. None of his subjects knew that he struggled to rise from bed each morning, that it took him much too long to change into his mail - for he refused to let any servants touch him anymore, for fear of offending Merlin.

They didn't know he spoke to his love on a regular basis, telling him about all the boring goings-on of court and the various little ceremonies he now had to officiate. Most of it was horrendously dull. The one thing he thought Merlin might find interesting, however, was a new law he was desperately trying to pass in order to repeal the ban on sorcery.

Merlin would be more than interested: he would readily force it onto the people of Camelot if Arthur let him.

Morgana was a huge advocate of undoing all of Uther's hard work. After Arthur had finally freed her, she wept with joy and immediately departed for the nearest druid settlement. "I must tell them all of Emrys," she said when she came back to visit for the first time. "They are so happy to hear of him, and of the work we are doing to free them all. I hope you know how important this is to all of us, Arthur - to me _and_ to Emrys."

_Emrys._ The word was so foreign on Arthur's tongue. Merlin had such a nicer sound, was so round and soft in his mouth. Emrys was biting and harsh and cruel, all the things that Merlin wasn't.

So whenever he spoke to his other half, he took great care to call him by his birth name. "I'm going out to the forest today," he informed Merlin one morning as he placed his crown atop his head. "I'm going to pick some flowers. Did you know that today is Father's deathday?"

No response. That was alright; Arthur did not expect one.

"He was an evil man, but we must still put on a show in his honor," Arthur continued. "Else the kingdom would suspect. He was kind and just in their eyes, remember?"

Merlin did not remember. Merlin had always hated Uther with a passion, but he was still silent - out of respect for Arthur, he assumed.

"Don't worry, I'll set some flowers aside for you, too, my love."

He managed to convince the knights to let him ride alone. This was a luxury he could rarely afford; it seemed that no one trusted him to be by himself anymore. Perhaps they feared he would do something beyond reckless, like say something that might offend some dark spirit haunting the dungeons, or start a war with their least reliable allies, or jump off the tallest parapet of the castle.

So he headed out gratefully, appreciating the bold blue sky over his head and the beams of sunshine warming his face. "It's such a pretty day, my love," he found himself telling Merlin, "perfect for a picnic."

He picked the flowers without much thought, tying together a few sprigs of lavender and some white blossoms Merlin was sure to know the name of. His fingers trembled a little as he wrapped the short piece of twine around the stems into a messy little bow.

Something was different about today.

Arthur rode out of the forest with the flowers in hand and an unsteadiness in his limbs. The closer he got to Uther's grave, the more uneasy he felt - but he did not waver from his course.

He laid the little bouquet at the foot of the headstone, very close to the lake of Avalon, and knelt, his gloved hand tracing the letters carved into it.

"Father," he began, his voice a little shaky. Bile rose in his throat, and for a brief moment, he could not speak until he had forced it back down again.

"You bastard," he choked. His eyes were clouded with tears. "You took everything from me. You and your 'war against magic.' I hope you know that your law is being repealed tomorrow. I hope you know what a cowardly snake you are - how he was a hundred times a man you'll ever be, how I have always been in love with him, since that day in his village where he was so impossibly sweet and vulnerable to me.

"I hope you know how often we snuck around behind your back, kissing in stable corners and creeping into each other's quarters at night and leaving the castle for little escapades in the forest. I hope you know how much I dreamt of him, how I fantasized about leaving Camelot behind and running away with him to Essetir, living a normal life and escaping all the confines of this cursed leadership. I hope you know how much I despise the throne because of you.

"I hope you know how devoid of life your court is now that he is gone - how you killed everyone he loved along with him. I hope you know how much I hate you, and what a wretched whore's son you are. I'm sure you don't like me calling you these things, and I'm sorry, but -"

"Don't be," said a soft voice from behind.

Arthur dared not believe his ears.

"I must be dreaming, dear," he said, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Did you just reply for once?"

"Yes, Arthur."

He refused to turn around. "I've finally lost it, then, have I?"

"Darling," said what was decidedly Merlin's voice, "Arthur, it's me."

He stood to see what was behind him.

It was the most beautiful day. The sun beat down upon Merlin's perfect visage, illuminating the exquisite, soaking wet white robes swathing his body and pooling at his feet. His hair was pushed back from his forehead to keep from dripping water in his perpetually golden eyes. He was glowing.

"It cannot be you," Arthur breathed. "You must be Death, come to take me at last."

Merlin tilted his head a little in confusion. "I suppose, in your eyes, I am."

"Oh."

Merlin stepped forward and took Arthur's rough, weathered hands in his own, which were marred with burn scars.

"Your hands," the prince choked. "Merlin, I did this..."

"No, it's all better now, see?" In a brilliant, brief moment, Merlin's eyes flashed blue, and his blemishes faded away, revealing the pale, pearly skin Arthur was so familiar with. "You didn't do this, love. None of this was ever your fault."

"I know, but my father -"

"- was a vile man. You are not to blame for his shortcomings."

Words escaped Arthur as Merlin's soft hand cradled his cheek. "Can't you feel how real I am?" he asked, so sweetly and gently. "They sent me back so we could be together. We begged them for five years, and they finally agreed to do what we asked."

"Wh... who?"

"The Sidhe." Merlin's lips lifted into a little grin. "I reckon they didn't want to be stuck with me for an eternity after I bothered them about you for so long."

"Merlin," Arthur said, still in disbelief. He took Merlin's hands and kissed them. "Merlin, I love you."

"I love you, too, you royal prat," was the response, and there was the Merlin he remembered. "Now where are my flowers?"

"I... I forgot to get them," Arthur said, stunned. At that, Merlin's features lit up in a beautiful smile, and he laughed joyously.

"It's alright," he said. "Why don't we go pick some together?"

Arthur drew back. "Are... are you taking me to die, Merlin?"

"Yes, love."

"Will it hurt?"

"Not in the way you're used to," Merlin said pensively. When he looked at him, his eyes were full of magic and love and something else Arthur couldn't quite place.

"What does that mean?"

"You'll see," Merlin smiled. "There are some lovely camellias just over that ridge, darling. Let's go get some."

He offered Arthur his hand, and he took it.

Oddly enough, the prince was full not of fear, but of great joy.

**Author's Note:**

> Any comments and/or kudos are much appreciated :)


End file.
